


A Royal Affair

by hvanwoong



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: (excesses of it), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Businesswoman Sana, Champagne, F/F, Longing and Yearning, Mild Sexual Content, Modern Royalty, Princess Dahyun, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvanwoong/pseuds/hvanwoong
Summary: As far as the world knows, Princess Dahyun is dedicated to her duties and has no interest in the whirlwind of suitors around her.They do not know that she shares her heart only with philanthropic businesswoman Minatozaki Sana.
Relationships: Kim Dahyun/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	A Royal Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello ^-^ It’s my second Saida fic! I wrote all this in a blur today because honestly I fell in love. The fic takes place in a fictionalised environment with a modern Korean royal family. It contains some non-explicit sexual content and references in the second half. Please enjoy <3

**Sana (06:13):** _No more sleeps_.

Dahyun brushes her thumbs over the screen as if she can make the words clearer by removing the slightest particles of dust. She wants to enjoy them in total clarity, bathe in their truth; there will be no more sleeps until she is able to see her again. The next time that she climbs into this bed, it will be with Sana. For five months, the left side of the bed has been ice cold. No matter how high she turns the thermostat, it does not warm, nothing but an empty space left barren by the absence of her love.

For a moment, she stays still, reading those three words over and over. The bed is as luxurious as it is possible for a bed to be. Blue silk curtains fall ruched around the silver cushioned headboard with tiny white gemstones creating stars overhead. There are so many pillows that Dahyun disappears amongst them, sheets pulled up over her shoulders until they brush her cheeks. With little to do until the evening, she finds no motivation to move from this spot yet.

The first thing that she does every day is check her phone. Sana is usually awake earlier, usually at 5:30 or 6:00 depending on the work for the day and her time-zone, and therefore Dahyun has precious moments each morning in which she can think of nothing else in the world except for her words. She is more prone to sleeping in herself, unless there is royal business to attend to, and can make it to midday before uttering anything more than a yawn. It is too soon after waking to think of everything outside her door. Instead her mind still feels half asleep, and dreams blend with reality in perfect harmony.

 _Tonight_ , she thinks, _I get to be with her tonight._

She closes her eyes, a vision of the night ahead painted all across her imagination. She has planned it so many times. The first was seven weeks earlier, when the final date for the state dinner had been set. On that she, she had finally allowed herself to think about it. Before then the waiting had hurt too much, and it was easier to permit the scene to slip into her mind only occasionally, like a fanciful daydream. Over the next few weeks, she visualised every possible scenario for the night. Two days ago, she planned out the night in specific detail.

Dahyun does not have the luxury of spontaneity, even in a life of extravagance. There is no such freedom in a schedule that is governed by a security detail, prescribed down to specific seconds – but that is okay. She learned at a young age how to create wild, exciting moments even with her bodyguards a few metres away. Part of it was cultivating the people surrounding her, until she could trust her assistant and security and entourage with things that she would never tell her parents. Even at college her wild parties had never made it onto the front pages. There could be no headlines about the princess of Korea.

Tonight, she knows how things will go. She has already cleared it with her personal bodyguard in preparation. She has made the necessary arrangements. The fanciful has at last become real and she can feel the buzz of excitement all the way down to her fingertips.

 _I’m seeing Sana today_.

One more time, she enjoys her message, and then taps out a response.

 **Dahyun (07:45):** I’m counting down the hours.

When she sits up at last, she stretches out with a yawn. It took her a long time to get to sleep last night because she was so excited, and she knows that she probably does not look her best as a result, but that isn’t too much of a problem. For nights like this, she has her own make-up artist and she knows that Sana will not care how she looks anyway. Not that that means she doesn’t want to look her best. In their months of distance, she sends a thousand photos, but they are not the same as being five inches apart from one another.

She crawls out of bed and reaches around for the long white silk robe that she hands nearby. It is never long before an encounter with the staff in the morning, so she always keeps a robe close to hand. This morning she is dressed in a pair of purple pyjamas embroidered with silver-threaded flowers, a cute matching set, but over the chair of her dressing table she has already laid out an indigo negligee, because on the very few days that she can have her girlfriend here with her, she wants to make an effort.

 _Girlfriend_.

They rarely use that word anymore. It seems too light, too simple, to adequately express such depth of love.

As far as the world knows, Dahyun is single, and will remain so forever. She has a line of suitors queuing up at all times of course and she treats them with an air of polite disinterest at events and lunches and charity excursions. Her patience is starting to wane, but niceties are her trade. She has never entertained one personally and the world ought to know that. Some people have questioned it, calling for her to settle down in some sort of politically worthwhile marriage, but her parents and grandfather are content to allow her to dedicate her life to her duty instead.

Duty above all else, that is the maxim of her family. That is how they have kept their position for so very long, and why they are so very loved.

Being the third child affords Dahyun a degree of freedom. Her older brother will succeed the crown, and her older sister will marry well. Dahyun was the only one permitted to study outside of Korea, first at boarding school in Europe and then at college in the US. She was the only one permitted to have non-royal or celebrity friends. She knows that she is her grandfather’s favourite and that the family spoils her somewhat. She wonders, occasionally, what people would think if they knew the truth. Would they be outraged?

Would they be affronted to find out that Minatozaki Sana is not the childhood friend that people said she was, but rather the boarding school confidant who had skipped from friend to girlfriend to lover with very little gap in between? Best friends, partners, lovers, but it is more than that too. Sana holds a part of Dahyun’s soul in her hands that she will never let go, and Dahyun holds hers too.

To everyone else, however, Sana is merely her old friend, the old friend that she can see only occasionally because she is always travelling, building her family’s business empire, and trying to make the world a bit of a better place along the way. From when they were teenagers, Dahyun had been drawn to her ambition. Sana could not be tied down, always on a plane, always seeking out some new opportunity. She is on the news every other day. She has a fervent need for progress that makes her cleave a path through the world like a diamond drill.

Dahyun moves around her suite with a happy song on her lips. It is an apartment really, a self-contained block in her parents’ vast estate, but at times it feels more like a serviced hotel room. She has a kitchen, but there are also chefs on the property who she can call upon in a second, and she has never been good at cooking. Everything in the apartment is kept in order by others: cleaners, maintenance workers, and her enthusiastic if somewhat forgetful personal assistant, Chaeyoung.

She opens the curtains that overlook the inner courtyard of the block and smiles as sun streams into the room.

Today, it will shine for them.

~

‘You look beautiful.’ Chaeyoung picks out a loose strand of hair and fixes it up with the small diamond pins that are decorated all across Dahyun’s hair now. The stylist left nearly an hour ago, but Chaeyoung has taken it upon herself to the ensure that there is not a piece left out of place in her absence. She sighs. ‘… and you’re not even listening.’

‘Sorry!’ Dahyun looks up and meets her eyes in the mirror with a guilty expression. ‘I was away with the fairies.

Chaeyoung laughs. Everyone knows about Dahyun and her tendency to disappear into her own thoughts regardless of goings-on around her, but today Chaeyoung knows the reason. ‘Are you sure you weren’t thinking about see a certain someone?’

At that, Dahyun’s heart skips again.

The day had dragged by, every hour lasting a week, and even now it feels like a lifetime until she can make her way across the estate to the banquet hall for dinner. It feels like even longer before she will be able to fall into Sana’s arms and bring her back to this apartment and feel for the first time in so long how it is to be kissed by her love. She knows that the dinner will last for hours. Several heads of state are in attendance as well as the biggest business players in Asia. There will be courses and courses of super-rich food that Dahyun will start by piling high on her plate before realising that the bodice of her dress won’t stretch to accommodate the treasures on display. That is a familiar torture of her position.

‘Maybe a little,’ she says with a sly smile. ‘I wonder how long I’ll have to wait before we can leave?’

‘I can always cause a diversion for you,’ suggests Chaeyoung in a bright voice, ‘as long as you warn Kyungseok not to arrest me.’

If Chaeyoung is enthusiastic, then it is nothing compared to Dahyun’s over-zealous bodyguard.

‘I think that I owe my family a few hours at least,’ Dahyun sighs. She has not seen them much, recently. People assume that because they live in the same house they would be close, but this is no ordinary house. The royal palace sprawls across such distance that they do not truly live side by side at all, and her parents are always busy. With her grandfather’s advanced age, they have taken over many regal duties, especially those that involve travel. Dahyun is busy too. Just this week, she has attended three important charity events and two grand openings. That is her life in Sana’s absence: gala, function, opening.

‘Are you ready to go?’ asks Chaeyoung.

Dahyun has ceaseless admiration for Chaeyoung. Though she spends hours before any event working closely with Dahyun, she always seems to look the very best herself. Dahyun is sure that she must get up terribly early in the morning to do so. Tonight, she is beautiful in a bright pink cocktail dress, hair cut into a neat blonde bob. It’s like she lives two lives, both her own and Dahyun’s, doing two of everything. But she never complains.

Dahyun’s dress is periwinkle, and it was designed for her. The stitching is fitted to her exact measurements, and the designer had brought it over three times during the creation process to check that it looked correct on her form. The skirt is layered, fading into darker blue towards the chiffon hem. It falls so low that she begged Chaeyoung to let her wear sneakers underneath since no one would see them, but in the end she has agreed dutifully to cram her feet into a pair of pale nude heels with silk ribbons that remind her of her childhood ballet shoes.

‘Yes,’ answers Dahyun, meeting her own eyes in the mirror. They are framed in silver and blue, eyelash extensions widening her gaze, and they look focused. Pale pink matte lipstick gives her a girlish look. There are so many pins in her hair that her head feels heavy but she squares it over her shoulders and rolls her shoulders back. All of a sudden, she feels breathless. ‘I think so.’

A car is waiting for them outside the apartment. It will drive them around to the state entrance of the palace, where the carpet will be laid out for the arrivals. There will be cameras, though not too many because they are invited press only, but it is the eyes of the attendees that Dahyun worries about more. One misstep, one slipped word, and it can cost her family so much more than she is worth. Every day on official duties feels like one long exam.

Only with Sana by her side at these things does she ever truly relax.

When the sleek black car pulls by the main building, she pauses. The back seat is comfortable. Chaeyoung is here. Her phone is here. Safety blossoms in the warm shelter of the car. Outside, though, somewhere, there is Sana. The thought gives her courage and she closes her eyes to take several deep breaths.

The front of the building is a neo-classical façade, built up over the older building behind. Four white pillars extend up as high as she can see, and the marble steps are shallow and flooded with people already speaking. Dahyun has always preferred her grandfather’s traditional estate, but her parents prefer to entertain here. Black four-wheel-drive cars turn in circles around the central fountain, and a limousine passes them by with diplomatic flags fluttering in the evening breeze. Early winter has left the air cold and the guests are dressed in fur shawls, and black woollen coats for the men. Inside the car, the heat is turned up as high as it will go, an old trick that will allow Dahyun to cross to the building without a shiver.

‘Ready?’ asks Chaeyoung, and Dahyun nods. Her heart pounds against her ribcage with anticipation.

An attendant in black tails opens the door for her, while Chaeyoung jogs around from her own side in dangerous stiletto heels that slip into the shingle (imported for a frightening price).

When Dahyun steps out straight onto the carpet, there is a collective sigh of appraisal. Everyone turns her way, and she inclines her head to the guests who nod their approval. Her dress falls in delicate folds around her ankles and Chaeyoung scoots behind her to smooth out the hems. Cold air hits her skin like a train but she tilts up her bare neck and shows no indication of discomfort. As she slips into a professional mode, a level expression takes over her features, but her eyes scan the steps.

‘Princess Dahyun,’ she is called out to by a European politician that she has met several times, who draws over his wife with him.

Dahyun bows and conjures up her finest smile.

‘You look quite exquisite.’

‘Thank you,’ she says delicately, ‘as does your wife.’

This is the way that every conversation goes at these events. The heads of state reserve their important dialogue for talk with her parents and brother, her older sister too, while the world lavishes appreciation on Dahyun’s beauty. She has been treated as the baby of the family since she was born, the charming princess, but no one cares for conversation with her. Only Sana has ever taken the time to get to know her opinions on things, the things that matter. Elsewhere, Dahyun has felt like a china doll wheeled out for people to admire.

‘Let’s go inside,’ says Chaeyoung. Her teeth are chattering. She lets Dahyun walk a step ahead of her though really she is the one who leads the way. At the grand sets of doors (three abreast) they are halted by a pair of diplomats in white trouser-suits, who praise Dahyun’s hair and dress and ask after the sapphire necklace that rests on her chest, just below her collarbones. She tells them politely that it was passed down to her by her grandfather – his mother had been gifted it from a princess during one of their visits overseas, a hundred years earlier.

Once they reach the lavishly decorated entrance hall, Dahyun’s eyes flit quick around before they can be waylaid again. Red silk meets black tuxedo which meets green chiffon but none of these are what she is looking for. Chaeyoung grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and Dahyun takes a very large gulp of courage. The champagne is expensive, a divine vintage, but she swallows it like water. When she has finished the first glass, Chaeyoung passes over the second (she has not taken a single sip).

As though the bubbles have entered her blood, Dahyun shivers and smiles. Courage.

She stands up straighter and looks over her shoulder, and that’s when she sees her.

Sana’s back is turned, but her frame is recognisable. Her back is bare, exposed by a strapless monochrome dress that cinches in white around her waist and falls in fitted, angular lines of black. Her black hair is tied in a long ponytail, straight down her spine. Every line is carved tidily, but the silver clasp of her necklace has fallen round to the side of her neck as she talks animatedly and Dahyun smiles.

Passing the rest of her drink to Chaeyoung, she starts to make her way across the hall, only interrupted once more, and excitement floods her veins. Her heart thuds at double speed and blood flushes her chest red. Though she has been walking on stilettoes since she could stand upright, she suddenly feels wobbly and wishes that she had Chaeyoung at her side to support her. Her assistant though is hanging back now, whistling to herself and giving casual waves to anyone who glances her way.

‘Your diamonds are slipping,’ says Dahyun just as her hands rest down on the silver chain and she twists the clasp to rest at the knot atop Sana’s spine. Sana’s shoulders jump, and then she turns.

Just seeing her again after so long knocks the breath from Dahyun’s chest. Her wide eyes are doe-like on the surface but severe with wit; her soft cheeks give way to prominent cheekbones that give her face a maturity. The perfect cupid’s bow of her lips is so enticing that Dahyun longs to kiss her right here and now, forget the consequences. In fact, she’s already shifted her weight to the tips of her toes on instinct before Sana gasps and reaches out her arms to pull her into a hug. It’s not enough, but it’s all she can have. No one will look twice at two friends embracing like this.

‘I missed you,’ whispers Sana against her ear.

Dahyun doesn’t say anything in return because tears have sprung to her eyes with a familiar sting and she has to blink them away in a panic. Sana’s skin is warm, and she brushes her hands on Dahyun’s arms with a frown at the cold air from outside. The women with whom she was speaking fade away into a new conversation, because no one thinks that they can get between the two of them; thick as thieves, people have always called them.

‘You look beautiful.’

Dahyun blinks again and looks down as Sana holds her at arm’s length. ‘You do too.’

Under the eyes of the people around them, there’s nothing more to say. How can they engage in small-talk after the thousands of love-verses they’ve exchanged in their messages these last few months? How can they talk about the bite of winter outside or the lopsided top-hat of the businessman a little across the hall or the taste of the champagne when last night they were sending messages that could never, ever be spoken aloud?

Sana leans close and kisses her cheek and the brush of her lips leaves tingles all across Dahyun’s skin. They hold both hands, Dahyun running her thumbs along Sana’s knuckles, and then the contact is gone. Soon they stand apart, too far apart, and Sana tilts her chin up with a smile. ‘You look divine, your highness.’

‘Please don’t call me that,’ Dahyun laughs and shakes her head.

‘I thought you liked it when I call you that?’ says Sana with a wink and Dahyun’s cheeks turn very pink.

‘We should attend the dining hall to meet my parents!’ she says in a high-pitched voice, and even as she turns away she hears Sana’s light, airy laugh behind her.

Sana follows her into the dining hall. There are three long tables laid out for the meal, with gold-lettered name cards laid out in behind every plate. The hall will be organised according to a strict hierarchy, but Sana is seated close to Dahyun. Even the hosts do not split them up. Gold candelabra are lit up with fine orange flames every few place settings and the white table cloths are ironed so tightly that they swathe the wood like a second skin. At the main table, Dahyun’s parents greet a harried-looking minister who shuffles away at their intrusion.

‘Mother, Sana is here,’ beams Dahyun.

In her grandfather’s absence, her parents are dressed for the throne. A delicate silver diadem rests atop her mother’s greying hair, and her father wears his military medals pinned to his chest.

‘Daughter, your hair is loose,’ her mother sighs, and she leans over to sweep a strand back.

When the formalities are done and they turn away, Sana snickers and draws the curl of hair out again with a flick of her finger. Even the momentary brush of skin on skin makes Dahyun’s body sparkle with electricity. They both laugh and walk shoulder to shoulder, whispering back out into the entrance hall. Even with the gaze of others cast their way, Sana rests her hand at the small of Dahyun’s back to propel her forwards, a reassurance that will linger for hours later, when they are sat on opposite sides of that long table.

~

‘Well, if the planners get their way then I can say goodbye to the basement extension…’

Dahyun glances up at Sana, one seat down on the other side of the table, and they both laugh before looking down at their plates. These snippets of conversation drift up and down the table, quiet but firm, enough to disturb the clink of plates and cutlery but not enough to intrude upon the discussions of others.

‘It’s all red-tape in London,’ another voice, from three seats down, ‘my wife is very worried that they could prevent Tilly’s birthday fireworks from going ahead.’

A raising of the eyebrows from Sana and Dahyun laughs again, this time swallowing a cube of fondant potato without chewing and she coughs silently. Her eyes catch her mother’s and she gulps, sobering her expression. To distract herself, she lifts a tall crystal glass of water and takes several sips, but when her gaze meets Sana’s over the rim of the glass her lips curl up again. They are too distant to have a private conversation about the silly whims of these guests, but too close to avoid the awareness of the thread between them. It stretched and stretched, even when they were in different time-zones, but when they were close like this is thickened and held taut.

‘Your Highness, will you be visiting us for the summer season again in the coming year?’

Pulled from their silent conversation, Dahyun looks around and remembers that she is supposed to be paying some kind of attention to the goings on around her. The guest to her left is an American, the father of one of her college friends who happens to own a very grand property at the Hamptons. ‘Oh I would be honoured,’ says Dahyun, ‘if Lucrezia would invite me.’

‘You know you’re always welcome at ours. She misses you.’

Dahyun hears this every day of her life, about the friends that she has scattered across the globe. It makes her feel guilty, when she realises that her thoughts are so caught up in missing Sana that she barely notices her isolation from her friends, too. ‘I would love to visit. Will you be at home in July?’

‘My company is expanding into Malaysia in the coming year, so I can never be sure where I’ll be, but the girls will be home.’

Dahyun beams and sips her water. When she catches Sana’s eye again, her girlfriend leans forward on the table. ‘Can I come to the Hamptons too?’ she grins.

‘The Hamptons hasn’t recovered from the last time that we were there together yet,’ Dahyun quips back, in reference to a raucous beach party that had extended over two and a half days.

The menu for the evening is almost entirely French food, five courses, and Dahyun finds herself craving a slice of red velvet cake and a dessert coffee, rather than these elegant constructions, so tiny on the plate. Perhaps she could ask her chef to bring her one later after the dinner, or two… two to her room so that she and Sana can feed one another frosting. She sighs and pokes moodily at the duck breast on her plate, twisting it round and round in sauce. Every course saps her energy by the sheer weight of her impatience.

When the conversation in their corner moves to philanthropy, Sana leans forward on the table, her chin on her hand, and starts to discuss at length her latest foundation. Her posture is not deemed good table manners, but no one spares a glance at her arm, focussed instead on the passion in her words. Dahyun watches her, relieved that she can steer her attention in her direction for some time without arousing too much suspicion. When she talks about something she loves, Sana’s voice takes on a whole other dimension. It deepens, becomes richer, and it is impossible to look away from. Dahyun knows, because this is how Sana sounds when she talks about her too.

Dahyun drinks a fresh glass of champagne and lets her lips linger on the rim of the flute, aware that Sana is looking her way. She makes a slight hint of a kiss with the shape and then lowers the glass, a smile creeping onto her face. Sana has shaken her head and carried on talking, but her free hand toys with her own glass. Her finger traces up and down the stem, and whether conscious or unconscious, Dahyun cannot stop watching it. Sana’s hands are small and delicate, too soft for the sharpness of her abilities, and Dahyun longs to thread their fingers together.

By the time that dessert arrives, Dahyun is shifting in her seat. The waist of her dress is tight and the fabric is starting to scratch her skin. The champagne has made her head a little floaty but it doesn’t stave the itch of impatience in her hands and feet. She wants to run, pull off her heels and grab Sana by the hand and tug her along into the night. The group around her is talking politics but for once she does not even want to be involved. What torture is this? All these months apart and now Sana is inches away and she cannot reach out for her.

‘Do you feel quite well, Your Highness?’ asks the politician across the table, beside Sana.

‘Yes, yes,’ Dahyun says quickly. Clearly, her gazing into space and shifting in her seat has not gone unnoticed. ‘I’m not used to this much rich food.’

It’s an old excuse, repeated a thousand times by a thousand women at these banquets when they are bored numb, but it is accepted every time nonetheless. Sana looks up and meets her eyes. _I’ll take you away from here soon_ , her gaze promises. Sana does not look fatigued at all. Sana is the extrovert to Dahyun’s introvert; her energy increases at times like this while Dahyun’s depletes. No amount of training or experience has relieved Dahyun of this burden. With her eyes too, she tries to send a reply, _I need you_ , but she does not know if it translates in the space between them.

She sighs and turns her spoon over in the pistachio ice cream in her bowl. Even the sweetness cannot tempt her now. Closing her eyes, she imagines resting her head on Sana’s shoulder and resting there for a while. She imagines the brush of Sana’s fingers through her hair, a gently, rhythmic stroking. She imagines curling into her side and breathing in her perfume.

‘I think that my daughter is tired.’

Dahyun’s eyes flicker open. Her mother is doing the rounds now, wandering up and down the table in the role of a host as though she has cooked all of this herself. The surrounding guests murmur in sympathetic agreement, and Dahyun thanks her stars that even at 22, she is still the baby of this family. No amount of sympathy, though, will afford her an early reprieve, and she bites the inside of her cheek to stoke herself back to focus. She has attended these dinners two hundred times before; there is no excuse to lose her composure now.

But it’s difficult when Sana is two seats away, ignoring the soufflé in front of her altogether.

~

Dahyun shakes herself to her senses when they stand in the lobby, exchanging more greetings. With the end in sight, her energy has returned with a second burst. Sana has already left, in Dahyun’s car, to be circled back around to her apartment before Dahyun will leave in twenty minutes. Chaeyoung and Kyungseok fuss about it, like secret agents assigned with protecting state secrets, but then Dahyun supposes that her love life is all but a state secret. The effect of the champagne from earlier has faded and her mind feels sharp, hyper-aware of the ticking of the clock in her mind before she can make her excuses and return home.

The younger members of the royal family never stay at functions late into the night. It is important to their image that they leave in some style. Dahyun has neither a watch nor her phone (which is safely packed away in Chaeyoung’s clutch bag) but she feels the passing of every minute. Her heels are sore from the rubbing of her shoes and the arches of her feet ache. She cannot wait to kick off her heels and stretch out her toes and perhaps have a long, hot bath. And not alone.

‘Your car is waiting, Your Highness,’ says Chaeyoung in a low voice, with the title that she only uses in public.

Relief floods from the top of Dahyun’s head down to her fingertips like a waterfall of warm water. She makes her farewell to the group around her and steps back out from the crowd. Before she can make it to the doors, she bows to her parents, who are holding conversation with the most esteemed company of the night close to the grand staircase. Almost tripping on the red and gold threaded rugs underfoot, Dahyun skips before Chaeyoung as soon as the formalities are done and smooths back her hair from her forehead. It has fallen loose all around her face during the evening.

‘Fix me up,’ she says as soon as she collapses into the back of the car. The dry heat hits her skin and she shifts awkwardly on the leather. If she has to wear this dress any longer then she swears she will scream. There will be only a couple of minutes in the safety of the car before they reach her apartment, and she must make up for the hours spent without a mirror.

‘You already look fine,’ sighs Chaeyoung, but that doesn’t mean that she does not jump to attention. She switches on the overhead lights and works on Dahyun’s hair as the car crawls at five miles per hour across the estate. ‘Just another top-up…’ Chaeyoung says, tongue sticking out between her teeth, and she pulls out the lipstick from her bag to tap at the corners of Dahyun’s lips. ‘Dab here,’ she says, next revealing a white lace handkerchief.

‘I thought I’d go mad tonight, Chae,’ whispers Dahyun.

‘Well, your reward is waiting. And Kyungseok and I made sure that you two will have the best night ever.’

‘What did you do?’

Chaeyoung presses a finger to her lips and then takes a few pins out of Dahyun’s hair to allow some of the front sections to tumble down over her shoulders. ‘You know where we’ll be if you need us. Go get your girl.’

The car pulls up outside and Dahyun takes a slow breath before pushing open her own door. She does not need a driver to do such things when there are no cameras around, and has always found it frustrating when she is denied the autonomy to perform the most basic tasks. With one wave back at Chaeyoung, she bows to the doorman who lets her through, and heads to the mirrored elevator. Now that she is so close, she does not rush, instead resting her hands on the gold bar and examining her reflection. She still looks good.

Her dark hair is highlighted with reddish hues. She pulls loose two more pins and turns her gold key in the slot to take the elevator to her apartment. When the doors slide open, she is struck by what Chaeyoung did. The lighting in the suite is low, but there are candles lit on every surface, and fairy-lights strung from the light fittings. It’s not at all regal and entirely captivating. The white couch turns pink and red from the lights. Sana is close to the window, her fingers on the voile panelling, and she turns around with a half smile. ‘Did Chaeyoung do this?’

Dahyun stares and the realisation that they are alone at last rushes over her in one swoop. Weak at the knees, she kicks off her shoes and lets her bare feet sink into the plush carpet. ‘She says that she and Kyungseok did it during the dinner, but her hands are all over this,’ she exhales. ‘I don’t know how I survived tonight.’

Then, in an instant, she has crossed the room. She throws herself against Sana, who is still wearing her stilettoes, and buries her face into her neck. The floral bouquet of Chanel No5 hits her, and it’s so familiar that she breathes in just to remind herself that she is home. Citrus top-notes, the trail of vanilla, Dahyun knows perfumery and this scent is so understated, so popular yet so characteristically Sana that it reminds her of her college dorm room, when Sana would disappear in the early mornings for business classes and leave Dahyun in bed to think about her.

All of a sudden, Sana’s hands are in her hair. They card through the curls formed by the pins and smooth them out, her short work-like nails leaving no imprint of sensation on her skin. The pads of her fingers massage circles as she goes and Dahyun wraps both arms around her waist. Standing still in the middle of the living space, they share the moment that was kept from them all those hours earlier. Sana presses a kiss to Dahyun’s temple before pushing her back a little to cup her face in her hands and examine her features.

‘I was losing my mind,’ she says, ‘all I could think about was kissing you.’

Dahyun blinks and lifts one hand to hold Sana’s on her cheek. ‘You seemed like you didn’t have a care in the world.’

‘It was killing me inside.’

They stand in silence for a moment. On the low coffee table a bottle of unopened champagne sits in a silver ice bucket. To break the tension, Sana steps away and tears the foil, unwinding the cage with a flick of her wrist as she looks back over her shoulder. When she twists the cork, it bursts with a pop so loud that Dahyun jumps and champagne foam spills over Sana’s hand. ‘Oh my God!’ Dahyun laughs, diving forwards to catch one of the glasses before the rest of the champagne spills.

Sana lifts one hand drenched in the bubbles with a smile, but then touches her fingertips to Dahyun’s lips and the laugh fades away. Electricity runs down Dahyun’s body and she kisses Sana’s fingers. The fruity taste creeps from her lips to her tongue and she allows it to swipe over Sana’s fingers for a second. The quiet tension from before that turned to laughter now turns to a weight in the air. Dahyun looks up into Sana’s eyes and sees the yearning desire there of so many months.

‘I missed this,’ says Dahyun, breathless.

Sana lowers her hand and manages a laugh again as she crosses to the kitchen for a towel. ‘I missed you.’

‘How was your flight?’ Dahyun tries to push everything else down inside.

‘Long,’ says Sana, who had flown in from Canada overnight, ‘but you know my plane is nice.’

That is an understatement. Sana’s private plane is even more luxuriant than Dahyun’s family jet. As representatives of the country, Dahyun’s family are expected not to be publicly lavish; Sana has no such concern, and there is gold plating in amongst the white leather of her plane. Dahyun remembers making love at 30,000 feet and thinks that she’d like to travel on that plane again. She swallows and takes a sip of champagne. ‘I read your message a thousand times this morning. I couldn’t believe that it was finally time and now you’re here in front of me.’

‘Right here,’ Sana returns and brushes her cheek with the back of her hand.

‘And by Friday morning you’ll be gone again.’

‘Shh,’ Sana hushes. She kisses Dahyun’s forehead. ‘Don’t think like that.’

‘I don’t think I can wait any longer,’ Dahyun says, in total honesty. Her skin is hot. The fairy lights are giving it a rosy glow.

Sana exhales and trails both hands down the curve of Dahyun’s body, over the waist of her dress. Her grip tightens there and she pulls her closer until the gap between them disappears. ‘You look so beautiful tonight, my queen.’

Dahyun’s face turns red. With her heels off, dress trailing on the carpet, she feels like a kid playing dress-up. Sana looks sharper, more mature. ‘Take your shoes off,’ she groans, ‘I feel small.’

With a light laugh Sana kicks off her ferocious heels and kisses Dahyun’s lips this time. The kiss is open-mouthed, filled with breath, like all of the words they haven’t spoken to each other for so many months rise up between them. Her tongue traces Dahyun’s lower lip, and when Dahyun parts her lips she kisses into her. Dahyun’s back arches in against her body and Sana’s grip tightens. One hand slides down the back of her dress and the other searches for the lace bindings.

‘From what I remember, you look even better out of the dresses,’ she whispers, and she moves her lips to her jaw now.

Dahyun tilts her head back and sighs. Sana makes quick work of the fitted bodice, sliding her hands under the delicate lace straps of the dress to push them down from her shoulders, exposing her chest with an intimacy that no one else in the world gets to see. Dahyun closes her eyes and concentrates on the brush of Sana’s fingers, light and deft as they graze down over her breasts before nudging her back by the waist to catch her lips in another long kiss. Sana’s hands move to the back of her dress now, tugging free the last of the ties more roughly, but it does not feel crass when everything meaningful is happening above the next.

She bites lightly at Dahyun’s lower lip, but swipes her tongue over the terrain so quickly that it feels like a caress. ‘You taste of champagne already,’ Sana breathes.

Dahyun would have answered, but she is distracted by the hand that has pushed past the base of the split of her dress at her tailbone. Her other hand is buried in her hair, tilting her head back so that she can trace kisses all over her jaw and her neck now. Just once, Dahyun would like to undress Sana, but every time she becomes too enraptured by the moment to do anything but allow herself to be taken apart.

‘I missed how you taste,’ says Sana.

The implication sends sparks into Dahyun’s navel and she lets out a low moan against Sana’s skin.

Sana moves lower, pushing the dress all the way from Dahyun’s body until it drops to the floor. The weeks of work that went into it are discarded as Dahyun steps free and Sana walks her backwards to the couch, kissing her clavicle. As they go, Dahyun manages to pull free Sana’s hair from its tie and it falls loose and long all around her bare shoulders, silky smooth. Sana’s hands are everywhere. Clumsier than her girlfriend, Dahyun tries to pull down the zipper at the back of Sana’s dress but they fall onto the couch with a spluttered laugh.

The champagne glass on the table spills and they watch it drip to the carpet before Sana takes her lips again. She crooks up Dahyun’s leg and strokes from her ankle to her thigh before grazing over the front of the white lingerie that Dahyun picked out just for this. ‘I love you,’ she whispers into Dahyun’s neck. Dahyun bites her lip, a gasp of a breath spilling out when Sana kisses down her chest and her stomach until her teeth find the lace fringe and Dahyun knots a hand into her hair.

She throws her head back onto the couch as the knot of sensation that has hovered in her navel for months, unsatiated, starts to come apart at last. Her eyes trace the patterns of light on the ceiling and her body finds a rhythm most melodic, a pulse of song that Sana weaves with every touch of her tongue.

~

‘Do you usually have people to do this for you, these days?’ smiles Sana.

‘No,’ pouts Dahyun as she watches the taps spill hot water into the deep bath. It sits depressed into the floor, where she can step in with ease, but she waits sat up on the countertop where Sana left her, wrapped up in her silk robe. It is two hours at least since she returned to the apartment – before long the sun will be coming up on another day gone with her love. ‘Maybe.’ It’s true. Sometimes people do come to run these baths for her. But not always.

Sana, naked apart from a sheer black chemise that shows every inch of her skin, leans forwards and plays with the bowl of brightly coloured bath bombs. ‘These are cute.’

‘They smell nice!’

‘I can just imagine you in all of this,’ says Sana, tracing her fingers over the surface of the water to check the heat. ‘I do imagine you.’

‘Oh you do?’ Dahyun smirks.

‘I do.’

Hopping down from the counter, Dahyun wobbles over. She wobbles because her legs still feel like jelly after the marathon session and she seems to have forgotten how to use her limbs. She wraps her arms around Sana’s waist from behind and kisses her neck. Some of her hair has tangled down and curled with heat, just how Dahyun likes it best. She holds Sana’s hips and lifts the hem of her chemise just a little, grinning into her neck. She thinks that she could go one more time.

‘You’ll be too tired to move tomorrow if you carry on like this,’ says Sana in a stern voice.

‘I don’t plan on moving tomorrow! I have you to myself. I’m not going to let you out of bed.’

‘Can I bring my phone to bed?’ Sana is always on call. That’s something that Dahyun has had to learn to live with.

She sighs. ‘Fine.’

‘Come on, get in the water.’ Sana nudges her at the small of her back and lifts the gown back from her body as Dahyun steps down into the hot water.

Instantly, her tired muscles relax and a confused shiver runs down her spine despite the heat. Her feet still ache from the dinner and her hands are shaky from the exertion of the last couple of hours; when she sinks into the water and rests her head back against the edge of the bath it’s almost as good as the sex. Almost. A lazy smile finds its way onto her face as Sana pulls the chemise over her head and climbs in after her, tangling their legs together.

Face to face, their eyes meet and the full gravity of the day falls onto Dahyun’s shoulders. Sana is here. Sana is _here_.

‘I can’t believe you’re real,’ she says, like that can express any of the pent up emotion in her heart. ‘I mean that you’re real _here_. In my bathtub.’

‘Could an illusion have done what I just did to you?’

‘Sometimes in my dreams,’ she huffs and flicks hot water up at Sana’s face. Their makeup has smudged; there is glitter on Dahyun’s cheek but Sana has not yet reached up to brush it away. Residual hairspray has made Dahyun’s hair twist in unusual angles, and she leans her body down to let the water soak the ends.

Sana raises a wet hand and brushes the long bangs from Dahyun’s temples. ‘I meant what I said earlier. You look especially beautiful tonight.’

‘It’s because you haven’t seen me for months. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’

‘Absence has aged me by ten years,’ says Sana, as though there is a single line on her face.

Water slops over the side of the bath as Dahyun turns around and shuffles back to lean against Sana’s chest instead. She rests her head back onto her shoulder and closes her eyes. Sparkles fizz on her skin like champagne bubbles when Sana drops her hand between her legs, but only to trace circles on her inner thigh beneath the water. The sensation is comforting more than anything else, a reminder of the intimacy that only they share.

‘Do you really have to leave on Friday?’ Dahyun whispers.

‘Yes,’ sighs Sana, ‘I do. I have a meeting in New York on Saturday morning.’

‘When will I see you again?’

‘Well, if you do go to the Hamptons in the summer then I’ll write it into my schedule,’ she smiles. It is far easier for them to meet overseas, where there are fewer prying eyes and people pay less attention to their behaviour.

‘Now I’ll definitely go.’

Sana runs her fingers through Dahyun’s damp hair and starts to work it into a loose braid, fingers fluttering in a blur as she weaves it down her chest until it rests almost at her waist. Every few seconds, she kisses her neck again. Opposite the bath there is a grandiose piece of artwork, outrageous to hang in a bathroom, and Dahyun notices that she is looking at it. The female nude is beautiful, a reclining Venus, brought together under the brushstrokes of an artist who must have fixated on sheer admiration of that form.

‘When did you acquire this?’

‘I had my friend bid for it,’ says Dahyun, ‘at an auction in Europe. It’s quite wonderful, don’t you think?’

‘Stunning. But there is better art here.’

‘Where?’ Dahyun turns in her lap and glares.

‘Right in front of me,’ laughs Sana.

Dahyun exhales and makes sure that she sends a severe frown in her girlfriend’s direction. ‘You ought not spoil me with words like that or I’ll never let you go. I’m a princess, you know. I could have you locked away in the tower with me forever and ever.’

Sana cups her neck and draws her in for a lazy kiss. The steam between them offers a wetness that slips and slides, it’s measured but messy and Dahyun feels so hot that she could forget all about the winter outside. ‘I wouldn’t complain,’ says Sana, ‘if you wanted to keep me that way. I love you.’ She repeats it once, twice, three times in English and then Japanese and then Korean. ‘A tower might be just the excuse I’ve needed to get away from it all.’

‘Do you ever imagine what it would be like?’ whispers Dahyun, and it takes no explanation for the meaning to be clear.

Sana bites her lip, already swollen pink from Dahyun’s kisses. ‘Every day. Every single day.’

Dahyun curls in against her and closes her eyes, falling into those same daydreams. She imagines this suite shared between the two of them; she imagines a dog or even a child, some shared thread in this world that could never be severed; she imagines a future together and the papers talking about their wedding and everyone applauding her for what a _good_ choice she made. Then her eyes flicker back open and she lifts her hands from the bath to wipe away they water droplets on her face. They could be tears or they could be the steam but she will not admit to herself which.

‘But we do have until Friday.’

‘Yes,’ says Sana, ‘we do have that.’

It’s always this way in these moments, and Dahyun has learned to live with that. The moments that they do have. Her heart constricts in her chest and she reminds herself to live in this minute and hour and day of paradise instead of thinking about the unchartered waters ahead. ‘I was thinking of asking my chef to bring cake,’ she mumbles.

‘Really?’ Sana grins.

‘Cake and coffee. I love when you taste of coffee in the mornings.’

‘When you’ve got me locked in your tower, will you bring me coffee every day?’

‘Three times a day like clockwork,’ Dahyun presses a kiss to her lips and then to her nose. ‘I’ll even make it for you myself.’

Sana laughs. The sound rings like wind-chimes. ‘Well that is an offer that I cannot refuse.’

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed the work <3 Thank you so much for reading!


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